


Call Me Maybe

by MonsieurBlueSky (MyChemicalRachel)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MonsieurBlueSky
Summary: Stiles didn’t believe in love at first sight. It was a load of shit. Sure, there was affection at first sight. Lust at first sight. But there was no way to see someone and immediately fall in love.Well, at least that’s what he thought until he met Derek.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 210





	Call Me Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago when someone prompted me on Tumblr, and I'm like 99% sure I posted it on here back when it was first written. And then, for whatever reason, I guess I deleted it. I looked it up and I couldn't find it, so I'm fairly certain I didn't orphan it.  
> Anyway, I found it again while I was going through my unfinished fics and while I was rereading it, I was also thinking why the hell did I delete this!? I love this!! So, here it is. Again.

Stiles didn’t believe in love at first sight. It was a load of shit. Sure, there was affection at first sight. Lust at first sight. But there was no way to see someone and immediately fall in love.

Well, at least that’s what he thought until he met Derek.

In the midst of a crowded club, with flickering purple and red and blue lights, the feeling of the music in his bones and beer in his stomach, Stiles flails through a sea of bodies to the bathroom. When he spots the line waiting all the way down the hall, he groans. His bladder aches. He could pee outside. Nobody would ever know. But he’d waited for thirty minutes before they’d even let him and Scott inside the club and if he goes outside now, he’ll have to stand in line all over again. Resigned, he falls into line with the other people waiting for the bathroom.

As he leans back against the wall, bouncing slightly on his heels, his gaze lands on a booth near the back of the club. Farthest away from the speakers, secluded. Seated alone in the booth, hunched over a book, is the hottest man Stiles has ever seen.

Almost without willing his feet to move, Stiles finds himself drawn to the man. For the moment, his urge to pee forgotten, his entire being is zoned in on this man.

Stiles slides into the booth opposite the guy. He looks up over the edge of his book, quirking one eyebrow silently.

Stiles grins. Now that he’s closer, he can see the book title. Stiles feels his heart nearly leap out of his chest. “Fucking marry me,” he says.

Something resembling a smile pulls at the stranger’s lips. “Excuse me?”

“Clockwork Orange.” Stiles nods unnecessarily toward the book in his hands “That’s my favorite book.”

The man puts his finger between two pages and lets the book fall closed. “Is it now?”

Stiles nods vigorously. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Oh absolutely. And though I would recommend everyone read it, the back of a club isn’t exactly an ideal environment for that.”

The stranger laughs. The flashing lights catch his eyes and they seem to glow. He ducks his head shyly and Stiles falls a little bit in love. “I’m not a people person.” His eyes skim the dancefloor, settling on someone Stiles doesn’t care to see. “I’m here with my sisters. They needed a designated driver.”

Stiles nods, reaches his hand out across the table. “Well I am more than happy to keep you company. I’m Stiles.”

The hand that slides into his own is warm and calloused and it lingers enough to make Stiles’ skin tingle. “I’m Derek.”

They talk for a few more minutes before Stiles remembers what brought him to this part of the club in the first place. The line to the bathroom seems to have diminished and Stiles jumps up, hesitating before he goes. “Wait here,” he tells Derek. “Don’t leave yet. I’ll be right back.”

A smile pulls at Derek’s lips again. That damn smile. Yeah, Stiles is definitely head over heels for this guy. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And when Stiles returns from the bathroom, Derek is still there as promised. This time, though, a few girls have joined him at the table. Stiles approaches cautiously, unsure if he’s still welcome. But one of the girls looks up and beams. “Is this him?” Her voice is only a little slurred. “Derek, he’s cute!”

Derek looks up and Stiles could swear he sees a blush across his cheeks. Derek scoots over on the booth to make room for Stiles. As Stiles sits, he’s pretty sure his heart can be heard over the music. He’s pressed against Derek’s side, from shoulder to hip.

“I’m Laura!” The first girl shouts and gestures to the girl beside her. “And this is Cora! You know, I have been telling Derek that he needs to get laid, I am so glad he found you!”

Stiles’ face burns and he glances over to see Derek glaring at his sister. “Laura, stop talking.”

Laura waves him off with the swish of her hand. “Oh come on, Der-bear. Lighten up.” She grabs for a drink on the table, but Derek pulls it out of her reach.

“I think you two have had enough.”

Laura frowns at him. “Party pooper.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“You’re gonna take the hottie home, right?” Cora asks, her words only a little clearer than Laura’s had been. She leans across the table, putting her hand up like she’s trying to whisper, and yells, “Did you see his ass!?”

“Okay, it’s time for you to go home,” Derek tells her. Stiles deflates, suddenly crushed by the idea that tonight has to end already. He’s not ready to tell Derek goodbye. But then Derek looks over at him. “Are you here with anyone?”

“Just my brother,” Stiles says dismissively, “and his girlfriend.”

Derek’s hands fidget with the corner of his book, looking nervous. “I could give you a ride, if you want.”

And yeah. Stiles definitely wants.

After dropping his sisters off at their shared apartment, Derek drives. Stiles isn’t sure he actually has a destination in mind, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go home. Derek hasn’t asked where Stiles lives yet, so Stiles can guess he doesn’t want this to end either.

After a few minutes of silence, Derek clears his throat. “I’m not reading this wrong… right?”

Stiles glances over at him, but Derek is staring straight ahead. His jaw is tensed and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Stiles chews on his lip, contemplating how to handle this with tact, and decides  _ fuck it _ . He presses the release on his seatbelt and leans over the center console. His hand comes to rest on Derek’s thigh, way too close to be just friendly, and he gives the best damn bedroom eyes he can manage.

Derek looks over at him, swallows hard, and nods. “Yeah, that clears things up.” He presses down on the gas pedal and turns the steering wheel, this time having a destination in mind.

They’re barely in Derek’s door before Stiles finds himself pinned against the wall with a tongue in his mouth. He’s got handfuls of hair and clothing and… too fucking much clothing. He pulls at Derek’s jacket and then his shirt, trying his best to de-clothe them without breaking the kiss because if he’s being honest it’s the best damn kiss Stiles has ever had.

“Hey,” Derek murmurs softly, slowing the kiss and taking hold of Stiles’ hands. “Wait.”

Immediately, Stiles pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

Derek smiles and presses a chaste kiss to Stiles’ waiting lips. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking we should go to the bedroom. Or at least the couch.”

Stiles finds himself nodding. “Yes. Both. Either. I don’t care. I just want to kiss you again.”

Derek turns to study the apartment. “Couch,” he decides with a smirk. “And then maybe the bedroom after that.”

And Stiles likes that idea. He claims a seat on the couch while Derek turns the TV on, finding something random on Netflix. A documentary about wolves, it looks like, but Stiles isn’t paying much attention when Derek sits down next to him. They kiss for what seems like hours, slow and lazy like they’ve known each other forever. There’s groping and grinding and Stiles ends up straddling Derek’s lap with Derek’s hand down his jeans, their foreheads pressed together.

They move to the bedroom soon after that, where Stiles takes his time undressing Derek, kissing every available inch of him.

When they fall asleep, cradled together like lovers, Stiles’ last conscious thought is that he is going to fucking marry this guy one day.

When Stiles wakes up, it’s past noon and he is so fucking late for work. He’s scrambling for the clothes he lost last night when Derek blinks, watching him with tired eyes. “Are you leaving?”

His hair is unkempt and his voice is rough. Stiles wants nothing more than to climb back into bed with him and never leave. But he can’t.

“I have work,” Stiles says. He almost trips trying to pull his jeans on. “My dad is going to kill me.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Your dad?”

“I work with him,” Stiles explains, and puts his shirt on backwards. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to six thousand missed calls, from his partner and his dad. “He’s my boss. And I am so late. Shit, I am in so much trouble. I had a lot of fun. Like, a lot. And I swear I’m not one of those guys that runs out the next morning but I really really have to go.”

“Can I call you?” The hopeful look in Derek’s eyes makes Stiles think about calling in sick and just staying here forever.

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Derek sits up and finds a pen in the nightstand drawer, handing it to Stiles. Stiles scribbles his number across Derek’s palm and then kisses him. “Call me.”

“I will,” Derek says, but Stiles doesn’t hear him. He’s already running out of the apartment.

Stiles is late for work. Of course he is. His dad is frowning when he races into the station, an apology coffee in hand. His dad takes the coffee, but keeps the frown. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I even had Scott go by your place, he said you hadn’t been there all night.”

Stiles grimaces. He hooks his badge in place on his uniform and says, “I know. I went home with someone else last night.”

John raises an eyebrow at that. “You went home with someone?”

Stiles blushes and his dad raises his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t care, Stiles. You’re twenty-three years old. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want in your own time. But you’re also a deputy and this morning you were two hours late for your shift.”

“I know,” Stiles groans. “And I am sorry. It will not happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.” John sips at his coffee and frowns some more. “This coffee sucks. Call your partner, apologize to her, and then sit your ass at a desk and do some paperwork.”

“Dad, you can’t do that,” Stiles argues. “I need to be on patrol. Not desk duty.”

“Show some damn responsibility and you can have patrol back,” John snaps. “For now, you have reports to file.”

Stiles waits three days for Derek to call him before he starts to panic. He had fun with Derek. He enjoyed Derek’s company. Not just the sex, but the conversation. And he thought Derek felt the same. But if Derek felt the same, wouldn’t he call?

Stiles works extra hard at the station to keep his mind off things. Derek probably got busy. Or maybe he’s nervous about calling. He just needs to give it a little more time.

By the time three weeks pass, Stiles has given up all hope. He knows how to take a hint; no call from Derek means Derek just wasn’t interested. And Stiles is a big boy. He can accept rejection. But it sucks and he’s resigned himself to sulking.

Standing in line at a coffee shop is the last place Stiles thought he would run into Derek again. It’s crowded this early in the morning, but the whole place is silent save for the spoken orders and the machines behind the counter. Stiles calls this zombie hour, when everyone is still half asleep and waiting to be caffeinated.

Stiles doesn’t recognize him at first, standing behind the counter. He’s wearing glasses now, perched on the end of his nose that he pushes up every few minutes. Those glasses do something to Stiles and he bites his lip to keep from thinking those kinds of thoughts in public.

He doesn’t want this confrontation. He wonders if he could slip out of the coffee shop unnoticed and book it to the Starbucks on the corner before work. But then he realizes he’s at the front of the line, coming face to face with the best night of his life.

“What can I get y--” Derek’s words trail off as he looks up. “Stiles.”

And Stiles knows he should just order his drink and leave, but an inexplicable rush of anger and sadness fills him. “You never called me.”

Derek simply blinks at him, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “What?”

More anger fills him. “You never fucking called me, you asshole. If you didn’t want to see me again, you could have just told me that.”

He furrows his brow and shakes his head in a jerky motion. “I did call. The number you gave me was--”

“Hale!” Someone calls from behind Derek’s shoulder. “What’s the holdup? We’ve got a line!”

Derek huffs out a breath through flared nostrils. “What can I get you today?”

“Americano, large.” Stiles says.

When Derek hands over the cup, his fingers brush Stiles’. He leans forward and says, “I can go on break in ten minutes. Please, just let me explain.”

And so Stiles finds an empty table and stares into his coffee. Ten minutes later, as promised, Derek is claiming the empty seat across from him. Without preamble, Derek says, “The number you gave me was fake.”

“It was not fake,” Stiles counters. “Why the hell would I give you a fake number?”

Derek shrugs, like he’s asked himself the same question a thousand times. “Some lady named Angela answered. She thought I was her grandson and I was on the phone with her for two hours, Stiles.  _ Two hours _ .”

Stiles is shaking his head. “No, no. I didn’t give you a fake number. I waited three weeks for you to call me back.”

Derek takes out his cell phone and scrolls through his history before setting it down for Stiles to see. “This is the number you gave me.”

Stiles leans forward, frowning when he sees where it went wrong. “That nine, it’s supposed to be a four.”

Derek makes no move to take his phone back. “Did you really think I wouldn’t call you?”

Stiles scoffs. “Did you really think I would give you a fake number?”

Derek laughs softly. “We’re both kind of dumbasses, huh?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He grabs Derek’s phone, typing in his correct number and sending a text to himself. His own phone beeps with the new alert. “There. Now you have my number, and I have yours. Call me. For real this time. I have to get to work.”

Derek nods, a blush creeping onto his cheeks when he says, “So you’re a cop.”

“I even have my own handcuffs,” Stiles says, winking. But when Derek blushes harder, Stiles realizes he’s hit a freaking goldmine. “Holy shit, you’re into bondage.”

Derek just glares at him.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, and leans in, lowering his voice. “I think I just realized I have a glasses kink.”

A smile stretches across Derek’s face. “We have some negotiating to do.”

“Maybe after dinner?” Stiles offers.

Derek leans across the table to press a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. “It’s a date.”


End file.
